Christmas Cookie Fortunes
by doc100
Summary: A series of stories for the Christmas Ficathon based on the episode, 'A Merry Little Christmas'. The final story in the trilogy is up: 'When A Child Is Born.'
1. Chapter 1

**Christmas Cookie Fortunes** by doc

_**AN:**__ This piece was written for the Christmas ficathon._

_The purpose of the ficathon was to write stories based on fortune cookie prompts. Each participating author was to anonymously submit three fortune cookie fortunes. The fortunes were then 'mixed up' and 'redistributed' to each of the participating authors. We were then supposed to pick a fortune…or two, or three…and compose a JAG fanfiction piece based on the premise of the fortune cookie prompt._

_I hope no one minds celebrating a little more holiday fun even though it's January. You'll find my ficathon submission inside. Belated Merry Christmas to one and all…I think???_

_**xxxxx**_

_Disclaimer: I don't own JAG or any of the characters. I just take them out and play with them on occasion before replacing them safe and sound back on the shelf._

_Special thanks to Mom, my faithful finder and keeper of all things related to spelling and grammar__. And cheers and applause to Pixie for sponsoring the ficathon event!_

_**xxxxx**_

_Step inside…………_


	2. In the Bleak Midwinter1

**In the Bleak Midwinter** by doc

_**Prompt:**__ Speak when you are angry and you will make the best speech you will ever regret. Count to ten - good advice right now to remember._

_**A/N:**__ The story takes place during the Season 9 episode 'A Merry Little Christmas.' For the purposes of this story, the scene in Mac's apartment occurs several days prior to Christmas._

_**Summary:**__ What happens when you speak first, think later…rather than walk away and count to 10? Is it possible to live with the consequences of your words?_

_**xxxxx**_

_Disclaimer: I don't own JAG or any of the characters. I just take them out and play with them on occasion before replacing them safe and sound back on the shelf. The title, '__In the Bleak Midwinter' comes from the Christmas carol by the same name. The carol's lyrics were written by Christina G. Rosette, and the musical score by Gustav Host._

_Special thanks to Mom, my faithful finder and keeper of all things related to spelling and grammar_

_**xxxxx**_

21:30

Friday

19 December 2003

Mac's Apartment

Georgetown

She sat teary-eyed and stunned staring at the closed door. His words reverberated through her mind, _'Forget about it! It's too important for you to screw up.'_ Christmas lights glistened, the fire blazed and the room was bathed in the warm holiday glow of candlelight. It should've been the merriest time of year, and yet she couldn't remember being more miserable. When had they become so distant, dismissive and downright intolerant of the other's views? A year-and-a-half ago they were practically joined at the hip. A year ago…close. Six months ago, separate…maybe aloof, but not blatantly cruel.

Why was he so hell bent on closing her out of his life? He hadn't even told her about this child, and yet he'd been involved in her life for several months.

That's easy, her conscience chided her…you didn't exactly encourage him to talk. What was all that nonsense about calling his mother? Pain…Hurt…Pride? Well, whatever it was, it was fine time she started acting like the best friend she espoused to be. If she had to be the first one to extend an olive branch then so be it. It would be worth swallowing a little pride, if in the end they could find their way back to better times.

She quickly slid her feet into the slippers half hidden under the couch. Forgoing a jacket, for fear she would miss him in his haste to retreat, she sprinted down the hall and opted for the stairs. Pushing through the front door of her building, she shivered in the cold December air. The night was dark and snowy, and her breath caught before bursting out in little puffs of fog. Squinting in the dim light cast by the street lamps, she caught sight of him striding toward his car. His shoulders were hunched against the cold, collar nearly masking his ears. With each step, his feet marched out an angry beat. Snow swirled around his body as the earlier flurries threatened to become a full-fledged winter storm.

Wishing she'd grabbed a coat, her hands briskly rubbed up and down her arms attempting to abate the bite of winter chill. Determination set in and she took off at a trot to gain his attention.

"Harm!" He opened his car door oblivious to her call.

"HARM!" She cupped her hands around her mouth trying to intensify the volume of her yell.

He paused with one foot already inside the vehicle and pivoted her way. Shaking his head against the prospect of another round of terse volleys, he waved a dismissive hand in her direction.

"Harm…wait!" She advanced his way. Icy snow clung to the flimsy soles of her terry cloth slippers sending her careening along the walk. Catching herself before she landed in the nearest snow heap, she tempered her stride with a little more care.

"Go back inside, Mac! I'm not in the mood for another one of your monologues on my inadequacies as a son or guardian…hell, as a human being. I've had enough of your disapproval and denigration," he climbed into the front seat.

"NO! WAIT! I'll do it…I'll help you in court! Harm…wait!" She had almost reached the street.

"I don't need 'YOUR' help. I don't know why I even bothered coming here in the first place. I should've known better. You'd think I'd learn." He shook his head for good measure, "After all these years, you would think I'd learn...don't need to hit me upside the head twice. I'll take care of everything…by myself. Just like always!"

"Harm!" Focusing on him, she stepped off the curve in full pursuit and failed to look in her haste.

He heard the squeal of brakes just a heartbeat before the blare of the horn. Then the sickening thud of metal against man. He jumped from the car and turned, horrified screams echoing in his ears. He watched her body bounce from the bumper to the hood, careen up the windshield and propel weightless through the air. Landing in a heap like a rag doll, she lay motionless a good five feet from the site of impact.

"Mac!" he shrieked and sprinted to her side.

The driver of the sedan slid to a stop on the icy pavement and bounded from the car. "I didn't see her," his voice trembled with uncontrolled fear, "…she just stepped out in front of me…right into my car. I couldn't stop. I tried…the ice…poor visibility…she came out of nowhere." His words spewed forth in a nervous litany.

Harm shouted to the stammering man, "Call 911!" before kneeling at her side.

She lay partially rotated and curled on her side in the ice and slush of the street. Her right leg was pinned backwards and her arm bent overhead at an unnaturally sharp angle. Her beautiful face was marred with scraps and cuts. He leaned closer to assess her level of consciousness. He felt her warm breath fan against his cheek in tiny forced puffs. He was afraid to touch her for fear of inflicting more damage or pain.

"Mac?" he whispered close to her face.

Her eyelids fluttered open tears welled within their depths threatening to overflow. She stared straight ahead unseeing. He lifted his hand and gently stroked the damp hair away from her face.

"Sarah, can you hear me?" his voice trembled as he tried desperately to control the panic. She blinked in response and a tear slid down her temple.

"Harm?" He felt more than heard his name.

"It's okay, Sarah," his fingers continued to stroke through her hair. "I'm right here with you."

"Whaa…hap…pen?" Her words came out hushed and labored.

"Ssssh, don't talk…save your strength." At her questioning gaze, he continued, "You stepped out into the street and were hit by a car. You broke the first rule of kindergarten, Marine…look both ways before crossing," he tried to lighten the mood and distract her from the pain.

"Needed…talk…toooo…yooou…" she began to shiver.

He quickly removed his coat, and laid it over her body. "Here this should help keep ya warm. You shouldn't have come out without a jacket," he gently scolded. He glanced down the road willing the ambulance to come quicker. He noticed the driver standing nearby attempting to wave traffic around the crash site. His eyes caught the man's and silently questioned.

"On their way…maybe five minutes," the man shrugged barely maintaining control.

He looked back at Mac, and noticed that her complexion had started to pale. Even in the dim light of the street lamps, she looked sallow and wan. Her lips, usually vibrant, barely held any color. He watched her eyes drift shut and was immediately filled with dread.

"Sarah! Stay with me, Marine!" Her eyes flickered back open.

"That's my girl…you stay awake so I know you're okay. The ambulance should be here any moment." He trailed a finger down her cheek; her skin was so cold.

She raised her left hand and grunted in pain at the effort. Curling her fingers around his, she held on tight. "Need…to…tell…you…."

"Ssssh, it's okay…whatever it is, you can tell me later." He lifted their joined hands to his lips and blew on her skin trying to warm the icy digits.

"Nooo!" she gasped out, "…need…to say…"

He leaned closer to hear over the howling wind of the escalating storm. "What is it, Sarah?"

"Was…gonna…help. Want you…know," her voice grew weaker.

Tears welled in his eyes, if he'd only listened. Taken a moment to stop, come back. None of this should've happened. "Thank you," he kissed her brow, "…I should've known…you always come through." He pulled back to stare in her eyes, "Now rest."

"Mooorrre…"

"No more, save your strength." She squeezed his hand with all her might. He barely registered the movement; her grasp was so weak. He heard the sound of sirens in the distance and whispered a prayer of thanks.

"Harrrm…"

"They're coming…do you hear'em?" Alarm flooded through him when he noticed the distant look in her eyes.

She swallowed with difficulty, "Listen…need you…know."

He bent closer again until his ear rested almost on her lips. Her breath came in short wisps and gasps. "What is it, sweetheart?" He didn't even notice the slip of his tongue.

"Love you…alwaaays…only yooouuu…" Her breathing grew quiet.

"Sarah!" He screamed and tried to lift her into his arms.

"DON'T MOVE HER!" A paramedic had appeared at his side stopping his movements.

"But…but, she's…" tears were pouring down his cheeks.

"I know," the paramedic gentled his voice, "…if you'll move away, I'll try to help her." Harm froze with inaction warring with himself whether to leave her side.

"Sir, I need to get at her," the paramedic urgently pleaded, "…to put on a neck brace and assess her injuries."

"Sheee…nooot…breathhh-ing," Harm uttered between shuddering cries.

"If you'll come with me," a police officer with a kind smile and caring voice helped to lift the tall man to his feet. "We need to let'em do their job, perhaps you could provide me with some vital information on the vict…uh, your wife." The officer led him away from the injured woman.

Harm's gaze never left Mac as he was led away. A second paramedic, a woman, knelt beside her and quickly began to assess Mac's breathing. The two paramedics shouted out information at a frantic pace. Harm watched while one slipped on a neck brace, and the other reached for a bag and mask. He caught bits and pieces of their conversation and understood even less.

"No respires…starting to bag…"

"Heart rate 40 and weak…"

"Contusions on chest and face…probable fractures both extremities on the right…ribs…"

"Shock…blood pressure falling…"

Harm stood a few feet away gaping at the sight. She couldn't die…not after all that he'd said to her. Accused her was more like it. She couldn't think….

'_Love you…always.'_

He hadn't even had a chance to say it back. His heart skipped a beat, surely she knew…. She had to know.

'_WHY?'_ His conscience sneered back…did you ever tell her?

'_Forget about…screw it up…too important for you…SCREW UP!'_ The words echoed in his mind, _'DON'T NEED YOU!' _What had he done? He dropped his head into his hands and wept for all the lost opportunities and time. So much time…Gone.

"Sir?" The officer placed an arm around his back, "Why don't we go sit in the squad car…it's a lot warmer in there away from the wind and snow."

"But…" Harm gestured back to the paramedics and Mac.

"Just for a few minutes," he opened the passenger door and helped the Naval officer inside. Standing in the open door, the policeman began to question, "Sir, could you tell me your wife's name."

"Not my…wife," Harm's expression grew more troubled, "…name is Sarah MacKenzie." He accepted a handkerchief from the officer and briskly rubbed it across his face.

When Harm attempted to give back the white cloth, the officer waved him off, "In that case may I ask your name and the nature of your relationship with the injured woman?"

"Harmon Rabb, Jr., and Mac is my partner and friend. We work together at JAG HQ."

"Mac?" the officer frowned.

"Sarah, she likes to go by Mac. Short for MacKenzie, I guess," Harm shrugged realizing he'd never asked her the derivation of the name, or why she preferred it to Sarah.

The officer nodded, "Did you see the accident?"

"No, I was in my car when I heard the brakes screech and the horn sound. I turned around in time to see he-rrrr," his voice cracked and he paused a moment to gulp back the cry. "I ah, I saw her bounce onto the hood and then flyyyy," he couldn't stifle the sob that time, "…ummm, off the windshield."

The officer gave him a minute to collect himself. "Why was she in the street…do you know?" he gently asked.

Harm looked away unable to control his tears, "She was chasing after me. We ah, we had an argument…she was trying to catch me." He swiped at the moisture on his cheeks, "I guess she wasn't paying attention, when she, ah…when she crossed the road."

"I think that's all for now," the officer gestured back toward the paramedics. "It looks like they've got her loaded up on the gurney, perhaps you wanna say your goodbyes."

Harm looked panic stricken, "Whaa…"

"I'm sorry, that didn't come out quite right," the officer stepped back and allowed Harm to exit the vehicle, "…I meant, you might want to see your friend before they leave for the hospital."

Harm nodded in reply, "Of course, I…"

The officer extended his hand offering a business card along with another item, "My name's Murphy…Sergeant Pete Murphy. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to call…number's on the card."

Harm nodded again, anxious to get back to Mac, "Thanks…I ah, need…"

"Go ahead."

Harm quickly found his way back to Mac. The paramedics were lifting the gurney into the waiting ambulance. "How…how is she?" he hovered just behind.

"Critical!" was the male paramedic's hurried response, "…on our way to Georgetown!"

"But, she's military…we usually go to Bethesda," Harm watched as they secured the gurney to the floor.

"Georgetown's the closest trauma center," the woman spoke in a rush, "…it's protocol. We don't have time to head across town."

"'kay, just so she's fine…" Harm fidgeted outside the ambulance doors waiting to board.

"We'll do our best," the woman gave him a sad smile and began to close the doors.

"Wait! I'm coming too!" Harm grabbed hold of the door.

"I'm sorry…we don't usually…"

"I'm riding with her, in case…" he couldn't bring himself to finish the thought.

The female paramedic paused in sympathy, "What's your relationship to the patient?"

Harm opened his mouth to respond then stopped mouth gaping wide. Images flashed through his mind in rapid succession, a handshake in the Rose Garden…the breath of life aboard a sub…a Russian train station…the promise of a child…a stolen kiss on a moonlit porch…a torture shack hidden in a Paraguayan forest. So much wasted time.

Eyes wide with emotion he glanced back toward the still form on the gurney, "Everything…she's my everything…"

"I'm sorry," the paramedic replied, "…family only."

"Wait!" he reached out to grab her arm, "…I have her medical power of attorney! I'm essentially her next of kin...there's no one else!"

"Gates! Get in here…we need to run!" The male paramedic barked an order as he frantically worked on Mac, "Her sats and blood pressure are falling!"

Harm's eyes grew impossibly wider with fear as he silently begged his case. His grip tightened painfully on the young woman's arm, "Please!"

"Alright," she acquiesced pointing to a seat at the rear of the ambulance near the back door, "…you can sit there, but stay silent and out of the way!"

Harm bounded up the steps and through the back door. He quickly belted himself into the seat and stared in amazement as the paramedics continued to work. The pair barked commands and orders back and forth with finely tuned precision. Before he knew what was happening, the woman pulled out a large pair of scissors and began cutting away Mac's clothing. Her sweater was cut up the middle and down both arms falling away from her body. One snip and her bra met the same fate. Harm stared mesmerized for a moment before looking away in shame. Of all the ways he imagined seeing Mac naked the first time, this scenario never entered his thoughts. It felt wrong to stare, and his gaze shifted to the floor. The cutting sounds continued undeterred.

The objects in his hand finally gained his attention. He briefly examined the officer's card before stuffing it into his jacket pocket. Running his fingers over the wet fabric of Mac's slipper, he scrutinized the now filthy slipper pondering whether it could be washed. Under the streaks of mud and grime there were tiny delicate rosebuds on a sea of white. A soft satin bow adorned the top. It suddenly occurred to him that he was in the possession of only one slipper; he had no idea the location of its mate. She'd probably tear into him for failing to secure the pair. He smiled at the thought of her riled and worked-up. She always looked beautiful with fire in her eyes.

He glanced back to the head of the gurney and thankfully noted her torso was covered by a thin white sheet. He willed her to open her eyes…to give him any signal that she was okay. The male paramedic continued to compress and release the bag breathing life into Mac. The monitor alarm blared filling the cabin with a shrill high-pitched noise, vying with the sirens for supreme auditory overload. The woman punched at a button and the machine mercifully stilled.

"Sats are still dropping," the man replied.

The woman placed a stethoscope in her ears and slid the device over Mac's chest. Closing her eyes, she grimaced in concentration, "Hard to hear over the sirens, but I think she might have a pneumo…I don't hear breath sounds on the right."

"Blood pressure's not coming up either," the man sighed, "…she's already had a liter and the second's half done."

"Think we should needle her?" the woman reached inside a tackle box and pulled out a huge syringe.

Harm's eyes widened in horror as she held up an equally large i.v. needle. He swallowed hard against the bile that surged in his throat and attempted to gulp back the sensation. Panting in the small, warm confines of the ambulance, the cacophony of sensory overload threatened to overwhelm him. He inhaled deep cleansing breaths through his nose exhaling through his mouth hoping to remain upright and conscious, then diverted his attention out the back window. The snow was falling heavier now, almost reaching blizzard conditions. The ambulance slid to the left of the median on the ice, as if sensing his concern. The driver skillfully regained control steering it back to the right and slowed for an intersection.

The momentary diversion gave Harm a chance to get his nerves back under control. He stole a peek in Mac's direction and was happy to see the paramedic toss the syringe and needle aside. Sighing deeply, he allowed his gaze to fall back to the floor. A glimpse of color caught his eye. Mac's left foot lay just a finger's breadth away. Her right leg was heavily splinted, but her left foot was perfect and unmarred. He reached out to stroke up the ball of her foot and then gently grasped her toes. Her foot was so cold and still. He cupped it tenderly in his large palm hoping to give her warmth. Tipping his head to the side, he noticed the glistening pink nail polish. Underneath all the military green and protocol, she was still a woman…a beautiful woman. How often had he tried to ignore that fact? Treated her like just one of the guys...a friend. A best friend, but still…just a friend? 'Fool!' he chastised himself. He'd ignored and casually cast aside the precious gift she offered, and now…

NO! DON'T THINK LIKE THAT…

He leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her great toe, vowing to live differently if only given the chance. He felt the ambulance make a sharp turn and peered out into the darkness of the night.

They came to a sudden stop. The doors flew open wide…winter chill rushed in to fill the air. He watched in awe as others flew to their side lifting the gurney through the doors. The crew of three joined in the chaos of activity, all working together like an experienced musical quintet. Facts and numbers changed hands shouted over the howling wind. Mac's gurney was whisked away at a frantic pace. He jumped from the ambulance and tried to give chase. A nurse caught him just inside the ER doors and directed him to admitting with the caveat that, "They needed her demographic data and vital stats."

He stood alone and silent, frozen in place by a deep foreboding loss. Arms hanging limply at his side, a slipper clenched white-knuckled in his grasp signaled the only sign of life.

xxxxx

Two hours later, he sat fidgeting in the emergency room waiting area. Christmas music played continuously over the loudspeakers interrupted every few minutes by announcements or a page.

"Doctor White to the ICU…"

"Radiology needed STAT in Trauma Room 4…"

"Mr. Smith, would you please return to Labor and Delivery…"

On and on and on it went. All he wanted was to see Mac. To know she was alright…alive. NO! DON'T THINK LIKE THAT! _'Jingle Bells'_ played again for the umpteenth time. He never realized how much he hated the sound of those damn bells! He threw the magazine he'd been mindlessly leafing through onto a side table. Standing up to pace, he nearly tripped over a toddler playing on the floor.

"Sorry," he tightly smiled at the perturbed mother.

Opting for a cup of coffee, he scuffed his way to the vending machines against the far wall. Inserting the requisite change, he punched at a button for black, no cream, no sugar. A paper cup slipped into place and the machine gurgled as the dark brown liquid sprayed into the cup. Reaching for the hot drink, he nearly burned his hand. Ignoring the tactile warning of his flesh, he gulped down a mouthful of the bitter liquid and gasped as a burning sensation erupted on his tongue and continued all the way down his esophagus to his stomach. He nearly retched as the acidic liquid refluxed back up from his empty stomach. He tossed the coffee into the nearest trashcan and leaned over the drinking fountain for a soothing drink of blissfully cool water.

Retracing his steps back to the ER, he stopped at the reception desk. "Ma'am, I was wondering…is there any word on Sarah MacKenzie?"

The unit clerk checked her clipboard and shook her head, "I'm sorry, the doctor hasn't come out yet. Mr. Rabb is it?"

Harm nodded and sighed in frustration, "Yeeess."

"If you'll remain in the waiting area, I'm sure…"

"But I've been there for hours, surely someone knows something by now," Harm raked his fingers through his hair creating unruly spikes in the dark shiny strands.

"I'm sorry…"

"I know," he huffed, "…remain in the waiting room. The doctor will come out…yada, yada, ya…" The clerk smiled indulgently. "Sorry," he sighed again and poked a thumb over his shoulder, "…I'll be over there." Grumbling to himself, he figured no news had to be good news, surely they'd tell him if she wasn't alive.

He found a seat in a more secluded section and dropped into one of the uncomfortable blue vinyl chairs. _'Jingle Bells'_ started to play again and he rolled his eyes. A small Christmas tree blinked from the corner, with bright shining lights of red, green and blue, in perfect time to the beat of the sleigh bells. He glanced around the room, before his eyes fell on a series of posters lining the wall.

The first showed the giggling face of a cherubic infant with the large caption, 'NEVER, NEVER SHAKE A BABY!'. He smiled at the sweet baby face and allowed his mind to wonder about 'What If's'. A smacking sound roused his attention, and he turned to see a large guy manhandling a much smaller woman. Just as he was about to rise and give rescue, a policeman standing guard in the ER barked a command of "HALT" and strode their way. Harm watched as the officer forcibly removed the bully.

He refocused his attention on the posters and startled when he read the warning on spousal abuse along with a hotline phone number. Wondering if he should counsel the battered woman, he turned around to find her following close behind her attacker like a dutiful wife.

"Some folks are so caught in the snare," he grumbled under his breath and an image of a young Sarah MacKenzie flashed through his mind. What must her life have been like? Fearful, miserable…resigned.

Running his fingers over the mud-crusted slipper his heart lurched. She just had to be alright. His last words to her couldn't be those said in anger…he needed to tell her how he really felt. Thumb continuously stroking the soft satin ribbon in a repetitive calming act, his eyes drifted to the final poster. 'ANGER MANAGEMENT' appeared in large black letters, and just below the statement, _'Speak when you're angry and you will make the best speech you will ever regret!'_

His breath hitched painfully in his chest. Regret. That was an emotion he could identify with intimately…REGRET. Tears flashed in his eyes as he bowed his head murmuring over and over again, "Please God…Please!…I promise…PLEASE!…" Clutching the slipper in his hands, he raised it to his lips whispering his prayer. If only, he'd stopped, taken a breath, held his tongue, walked away sooner…counted to ten. If only…

A gruff baritone voice called out his name, "Rabb…Mr. Rabb!"

Harm looked up to find a grey-haired man dressed in sweat-drenched scrubs calling his name. The man looked tired and grim, and Harm froze in terror.

"Harmon Rabb!" the physician bellowed for the third time.

Harm roused from his near catatonic state when the doctor turned to walk away, "WAIT! I'm Harmon Rabb!"

He rushed to the physician's side, "I'm…I'm with Sarah MacKenzie." He nervously twirled his cover in his hands, slipper clutched to his side.

"You're Ms. MacKenzie's next of kin? Her husband?" the physician swiped a bead of sweat from his brow.

"Yes…I mean 'No'…"

The physician frowned, "Which is it?"

"No, I'm not her husband, but I do have her medical power of attorney and am the closest to kin she has…we're ah…"

The doctor waved off the explanation; he didn't have time. "That's fine." He extended a hand, "Dr. Burkeholder…I'm the head of trauma surgery here at Georgetown. Look, I only have a few minutes…we're prepping Ms. MacKenzie for surgery, but I wanted to take a moment to update you on her injuries. We're also gonna need a signature on a consent for surgery and treatment."

Harm nodded absently, "Um, sure…how is she…what's going on?"

Dr. Burkeholder sighed, "Well, she's kept us busy. I'm afraid she's in critical condition…it was touch and go there for a while."

"But," Harm dared to hope.

"I think she's got a fairly good chance," he watched the Naval officer deflate with relief. He hated to drop the other shoe, "But, she has a long road ahead of her…and I'm not sure…"

Harm audibly swallowed his throat suddenly parched and dry, "Sure about what?"

The physician rested his hands on his hips and dropped his head, "You have to understand…her blood pressure and oxygen levels were down for a while. We performed a CT-scan of her head, which appears to be fine…but still…"

"What elllsse," Harm's voice cracked with emotion.

"Um, we had to insert a chest tube to re-expand her right lung. That was probably the source of her low blood pressure and difficulty with ventilation. The car appears to have struck her on the right side," the physician gestured to his right chest. "She has several fractured ribs. She also fractured both bones in the lower right arm, and has a compound fracture of her right femur."

Harm shook his head overwhelmed by the medical information, "I don't understand…"

"The femur is the large bone at the top of the leg," the doctor rubbed a hand over his leg to demonstrate. "That's one of the reasons she's going to surgery…Dr. Wilson, the orthopedist, needs to insert a plate and screws to realign the bone. She's gonna be in traction for several weeks."

"Alright, anything else I need to know," the color was quickly draining from Harm's face.

"Um, yes…a CT-scan of her abdomen revealed a hepatic contusion and a fractured spleen. She's received several units of packed cells." The sailor's eyes glazed over and the surgeon hurried on, "The liver bruising will just need to be watched, but we're gonna have to remove her spleen before we can set the femur."

Harm nodded understanding unable to speak.

The surgeon pointed a thumb behind him, "I need to get back in there. A nurse will be with you shortly to have you sign the consent. She'll also let you see Ms. MacKenzie for a moment before we whisk her away."

Harm stood shell-shocked while the physician disappeared behind the double door labeled 'Authorized Personnel Only'. A few minutes later a middle-aged woman with sympathetic eyes came through the same entrance.

"Are you Mr. Rabb?" she asked in a soft voice. He nodded his head unable to speak. "If you'll come with me, I'll take you to see Sarah."

He followed on her heels and gasped when they entered the trauma room. There were empty boxes, equipment, plastic bags and blood all over the room. The sickening gurgle of suction filled the air, overwhelming the background music provided by the swishing of a ventilator. The steady rapid beeps of the monitor provided the symphony's beat. The nurse placed a steadying arm around his waist and guided him to Mac's side.

"We only have a few minutes…I'm sorry, but we need to get Sarah into surgery." She extended a clipboard before him, "I need your signature on these forms…"

He took the offered pen and scribbled an unintelligible squiggle at the bottom of the paperwork. The nurse collected the pen and rubbed a gentle hand over his back, "You're welcome to go a little closer." Harm gaped at her in panic. "Come on," she gave him a little push and walked with him toward the gurney, "…I'll explain what we've done."

Harm stopped beside the bed and stared at Mac's ashen face. There were bloody scraps along her cheek and a bruise was already starting to darken over her eye. He reached out to touch her skin, but hesitated unsure of inflicting pain.

"It's alright to touch her," the nurse kindly replied sensing his fear, "…she's had morphine for pain."

Harm glanced back at the nurse, "She woke up?"

"No," the nurse sadly shook her head, "…but that's not unexpected after this much trauma. Go ahead, let her know you're here."

He gently ran a finger over her left hand. There was a large i.v. line attached to the back. He looked up to see the blood running freely in. Diverting his eyes back to her face, he noticed the large breathing tube secured with tape to her mouth, and a second tube snaked through her nose.

"Open your eyes," he willed her.

"It's not likely," the nurse replied.

He startled at her voice, not realizing he'd voiced the thought out loud. "I just want to tell her…I need her to know…" he stumbled over the words.

"You can tell her anything…you never know what she might hear," the nurse took a step away, "…I'll just be over there."

He stepped closer to the bed, and leaned over Mac, brushing his fingers through her hair. "Oh Sarah," he cried softly, "…I'm so sorry this happened. If I could take it back…if I could make any of this go away," he shook his head, "…if only it were me on this table instead of you. This is all my fault, if I'd only listened to you."

He angrily swiped at his tears, "When will I learn to control my mouth around you. Somehow, I always know how to push your buttons and say all the wrong words. Well, not this time!"

Another nurse appeared in the room, "They're ready for her in OR 1."

Harm looked up panicked, "Just one more minute?"

The first nurse smiled, "It's okay…just one." She busied herself with collecting the chart and paperwork.

He leaned in close to Mac's ear and whispered so only she could hear, "I love you, Sarah. Always…only you. I promise I'll be here waiting for you when you come out of surgery. I need you to fight, Marine…like you've never fought before. I can't lose you now…not when we have so much to live for. I need you…for eternity."

He gently kissed her brow as his tears soaked into her hair, "I love you, Sarah."

Stepping back at the clearing of a throat, his eyes reflected the loss he already felt. He made no attempt to cover his tears. "Thank you," he managed to squeak out past the lump in his throat.

"Here's her things," the first nurse handed him a plastic sack, "…I doubt the clothes will be worth much, but I thought you might like to have them." She handed him a small clear Ziploc bag, "And here's her jewelry…I removed a pair of gold studs and a ring."

He accepted the small pouch of jewelry and spilled them out onto his palm, "Thank you…I'll make sure she gets them when…ah, later."

The nurse smiled, "Well, we need to get Sarah into surgery. The surgical waiting room is on the second floor. Dr. Burkeholder will come speak with you once the case is done."

Harm started out the trauma room door, but turned back quickly when they pushed Mac's bed toward the door, "One more goodbye?"

"Sure…quick."

He rushed back to Mac and placed a kiss on her cheek, "Love you, Marine…stay strong." He stood up to his full 6 foot-4 height and flashed the nurse a grateful smile, "Thank you." She nodded in reply and gave the bed a strong pull. "Um, one more thing…could you tell me where the chapel is please?"

"First floor, north side…if you head out of the ER just follow the signs down the hall," she pulled the gurney past him and into the corridor. He lingered watching them go by. The nurses both smiled at the look of devotion. "We'll take good care of her," the first nurse replied, "…by the way, my name's Frannie…feel free to come find me if you have any more questions."

"I'll hold you to that...thanks Frannie," he stood transfixed until they exited out the back doors of the ER, then turned to find the chapel. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was 2 a.m., and debated calling the Admiral, Bud, Harriet and Sturgis. Deciding to let them sleep, he walked down the nearly desolate hall until locating the chapel and quietly slipped inside. He dropped into the nearest pew and bowed his head in reflection and prayer.

After 15-20 minutes, he finally felt an overwhelming peace, and realized he felt Sarah near. As long as he could feel her presence he reasoned, she couldn't be taken from him. He flexed his hand and felt the earrings poke into his palm. Studying the jewelry a moment, he placed the gold studs back into the plastic pouch and dropped them into the breast pocket of his dress blues. He pinched the Marine Corp ring between his thumb and index finger watching the red stone glisten in the light. Rotating it to and fro, he examined the insignias and inscription. Removing his own Naval Academy ring, he laid them both in his palm and marveled at the difference in size. Hers was so small and delicate…perfect, just like her. He slipped his ring back on, and started to pocket hers with the earrings. Deciding better, he slipped her ring onto the little finger of his left hand. It barely slid past the first knuckle, but even so, it felt natural there…like it belonged. He smiled at the symbolism…he was wearing Mac's ring. Now, if only…

xxxxx

_Continued in 'In the Bleak Midwinter', Pt. 2_


	3. In the Bleak Midwinter2

**In the Bleak Midwinter** … _Continued Part 2_

Five days later…

Harm shifted in his chair once more. He was getting tired of staring at these same four stark-white walls. It had been five days…five long, arduous, never-ending days. He supposed he should just be grateful to be there, instead of a gravesite at Arlington. But still, why wouldn't she wake-up? It was Christmas Eve after all, did he need yet another reason to hate this holiday? Glancing at the wall clock, he groaned when the hands revealed a late 8 p.m. He still hadn't been to the Wall, although he suspected his father would understand.

It had been a busy day; friends and visitors had casually dropped in hoping for a change in Mac's condition. Each one left a few minutes later with a gentle pat to the shoulder and a sad expression in their eyes. The JAG crew had promised to visit after the Christmas Eve service. He'd tried to encourage them to follow through with their own plans, but each one had sincerely replied that_ 'Christmas wouldn't be the same without him and Mac.'_

He glanced out the window into the dark winter night. Christmas carols played softly from the call light attached to Mac's bed. This wasn't how he'd pictured spending the holidays. No, he'd thought to be spending them with Mattie having dinner at Bud and Harriet's. Mattie, there was another obligation that fell through. If only, he'd stopped to listen to Mac, everything could've worked out so differently. Although, if he were honest, the situation had played out for the best of all involved. He still had the opportunity to remain an important figure in her life, and she had a family…a real family to enjoy.

He reached out to caress Mac's left hand. It was one of the few surfaces unmarred by lines, monitors, sensors, casts and cuts. She lay quietly as if merely asleep. The breathing tube had been removed yesterday, along with the tube draining her chest. Her right arm was in a cast, and the right leg suspended in traction. Her abdomen sported a long incision from breastbone to hip. She had bruises in every shape and color adorning her face, chest, stomach and limbs. Only her left hand and foot seemed to escape unscathed. The doctors were tentatively optimistic for a full recovery, although no one could explain her continued coma. She'd sustained no trauma to her head, but her blood pressure had remained precariously low for hours. _'Only time will tell,'_ was the resounding refrain.

The reflection off Mac's ring caught his eye. He studied the gold ring still adorning the little finger of his left hand. He refused to take it off, even when questioned by the Admiral. He just smiled and looked away, leaving AJ to draw his own conclusions. The ring somehow made Sarah feel closer, as though he had a tiny part of her. He'd asked for extended leave over the holidays, and the Admiral had acquiesced with a gruff, "No problem…workload's usually light." He suspected AJ knew that Mac needed him close for comfort just as he needed her.

He withdrew a black velvet pouch from his pant's pocket and rubbed a thumb over the soft plush fabric. It had been a year, more than a year actually, since he'd commissioned the ring. He shook the jewel from its pouch and into his palm. The diamonds sparkled brilliantly. It was a mix of three generations of Rabbs, and designed to be worn by only this one woman. If she refused, he swore an oath to his heart that the heirloom would never see the light of day.

Biting his lip with uncertainty, he held the ring a whisper's breath away from its rightful destination. Was it wrong to try it on for size and fit? Fit? He chuckled at the connotation; this gem had only one proper recipient. He slid the ring onto her finger and marveled at the rightness of the emotional declaration. She belonged to him, and he to her. He leaned forward to kiss the finger bearing his promise of love.

Stroking his fingers through her hair, he begged, "Sarah, please wake-up. I need to see those beautiful brown eyes, and I could really use a Mac smile right about now."

He shook his head in defeat, and prayed for the millionth time for a Christmas miracle or holiday wish. Her coming back to him would go a long ways toward obliterating all his long-held misgivings of this day.

He lifted her hand and kissed her palm before laying it gently against his cheek. His lips continued to caress the soft skin of her inner wrist. Even with all the antiseptic smells, alcohol and disinfecting scrubs, her wrist still smelled like his Sarah. He gently nipped at the delicate flesh with his lips.

Murmuring against her skin, his tears fell once more, "Sarah, please come back to me. I love you, and I promise to tell you a hundred times a day, everyday for the rest of our lives…just please come back."

"Luv…ya…too," the words came out soft and hoarse.

"Sarah?" he jumped to her side, "…you're awake!"

She blinked in the glaring overhead light, brow knit with confusion. He rushed to dim the blinding glare, instead switching on the dim background light used by the night shift nursing staff.

"Sarah?"

"Where…am…I?" she attempted to move her body before groaning in pain.

"It's okay…you're in the hospital. Let me get the nurse," he turned to flee the room.

"No!" she uttered with a bit more force, "…don't leave me."

"Ssshh," he attempted to calm her movements, "…you were in an accident. Do remember anything about that night?"

She frowned in confusion, "Argue…court…I chase…you."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," he leaned over her bed with a forlorn expression of guilt, "…this is all my fault. If I hadn't…"

"You…hit…me?"

"NO!" he vehemently shook his head, "No, I was getting in my car and you followed me across the street…a car came out of nowhere…"

"I…din-n't look…flunk kinner-garnen…traffic…rules."

He smiled, "Of all my comments, that's the one you remember?"

She softly smiled then grimaced at the pain, "What wrong…with me."

"Well, you've been through the wringer," he stroked the back of his fingers over her cheek, "…you had a collapsed lung and required a chest tube. They removed the breathing tube and chest tube yesterday. You ah, fractured both your right arm and leg…they had to place a plate and screw in the femur bone. They also had to remove your spleen."

Her eyes widened, "Guess I…lost…battle…with…car."

"That usually happens, Marine," he chuckled at her humor then sobered quickly. "Sarah, I'm so glad you came back to me. I don't know what I would've done if I lost you. I'm so sorry for all the things I said…I do need you in my life in every form and fashion imaginable."

"Whaaa…" the words slurred and she motioned for a drink of water. He lifted a glass her way, and placed a straw between her lips. She sipped tentatively at the cool liquid, "Thanks."

"Your welcome, but I really think I should get the nurse," he gestured toward the door.

"Wait…what happen…with child?"

"Mattie?" he frowned. She gingerly nodded. "Well, I ah…I didn't get custody."

Tears welled in her eyes, "'Cuz a me."

"No," he reached for her hand, "…the judge wasn't going to allow it. You know…single guy seeking custody of a young teenaged-girl." He shrugged, "Actually, I think it worked out for the best."

"Whaa…"

"Mattie still went to a good home…better in fact, to a family." He smiled, "When I couldn't appear in court, Bud and Harriet went on my behalf. Turns out, Mattie's father also showed up. The judge was going to rule in favor of foster care, when Bud spoke up. He talked to Mattie's father about growing up in an abusive environment, whether physical, emotional, or substance. Mattie's father agreed to grant temporary guardianship of her while he attends rehab."

"Where," she squeezed his hand.

He flashed a full flyboy grin, "With Bud and Harriet! The court still needs to do a full home inspection, but the judge allowed Mattie to go with them for the holidays on a trial basis. She's loving it, Mac. She has foster parents, both a mom and a dad, as well, as siblings. She and AJ are hitting it off famously, and she adores the baby. Mattie's never had siblings before, so she reveling in the experience. It couldn't have turned out better!"

"But what about you?" she looked crestfallen at his loss.

"I'm fine," he smiled to alleviate her guilt, "…after all, I have you."

"Not sure…that's a fair trade," she reached up with a trembling hand to caress his cheek. The light reflected off the diamond on her finger, and her eyes widened in surprise.

"Did I…miss…something?" she stared mesmerized by the ring.

"Ah," he stammered, "…I guess that's my fault, too. Maybe now would be a good time to properly ask and not just presume." He carefully leaned closer to her face, "Sarah MacKenzie, I would be most honored if you would consider marrying this stubborn, thick-tongued, idiot of a sailor. I may be a little slow in the commitment arena, but once I do…I'm yours for life." He smiled nervously.

"Was that…a proposal," she laughed then grimaced in pain, "…or a poor…sales pitch?"

"Which ever will work?" he chewed on his lower lip.

"Yeesss," her fingers slid behind his neck and gently pulled him closer.

"Mac, I don't wanna hurt you," he mumbled hovering just over her mouth.

"Worth…the pain," she tugged a little more to close the gap.

He kissed her gently and slow, pulling back when he felt her get winded for breath. "Alright, enough of that for now…I don't want you to end up back on the ventilator."

She looked absolutely radiant, bruises, cuts and all. She held the ring above her face and studied the setting. "When…did you…get it?" she panted.

"Um, had it a while," he hedged. She arched a brow in question. He relented with a sigh, "About a year-and-a-half ago, after Bud's accident."

Her eyes widened then welled with tears. He dabbed them away, "Hey, don't cry…I already know I'm an idiot. I don't know why I let things fall apart, but that ring was designed special…just for you." He sighed under the weight of the emotion.

"Not just…you…an idiot," she traced her fingertips over his lips. He pressed his hand to hers and gently kissed each finger. "Tell me…about…ring."

He pursed his lips and heavily sighed. Taking her hand in his, he explained the design, "Well, the two diamonds on the sides each belonged to my grandmother and my mother. They're from the engagement rings that my grandfather and father gave to each of them."

"Oh Harm…don't know…what to say," tears continued to pool in her eyes, and he lovingly wiped each away.

"But," he added with a flare to lighten the mood and pointed to the middle one-carat stone, "…this one, I picked out just for you. About a year before Bud's accident, I was TAD and got stuck with an unplanned stop in Germany. I had to overnight and catch a Zoomie's flight out to the U.S. the next morning. I was wandering around town that evening looking for a place to eat, when I came upon this antique store. In the window was this beautiful diamond engagement ring in a gold antique, filigreed-setting. I knew you had to have it," he shrugged, "…it just reminded me of you. I bought it on the spot and tucked it away in a drawer. After Bud's accident, I took all three rings to a jeweler recommended by Frank, and had him rework the antique setting to include all three diamonds."

She was practically gasping for breath by the end of his explanation. "Are you alright?" he asked with genuine concern.

"Yeah," her voice shuddered, "…I can't believe…." She stopped to take a breath and changed direction, "I love you…so much."

"I love you too, and I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you," he fought for a way to take her into his arms then gave up in frustration. "I just wanna hold you!" he sighed.

The increase in her heart rate on the remote monitor finally registered with her nurse. She entered the room in a rush, and stopped just inside the door. "Well, look who's awake!" Turning to Harm, she glared, "Mr. Rabb, you should've called for assistance!"

"I tried!" he attempted to bolt from the bed.

Mac held on for dear-life, "My fault…didn't want him…to leave."

The nurse eyed her patient with concern, "You appear to be a little tachypneic." At their identical raised brows, she explained further, "Breathing a little fast."

Mac extended her left hand, "Got…engaged," she beamed with joy.

"Well now, perhaps it's time for a little break," she said with a huff and turned toward Harm, "Mr. Rabb, if you'll go to the waiting room, I'll assess my patient and go call Dr. Burkeholder."

"No!" Mac cried.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he leaned over to kiss her brow, "…it'll give me a chance to phone the Admiral, Bud and Harriet…Sturgis. They're gonna be thrilled to learn you're finally awake. I'll be back in 10 minutes," he squeezed her hand then glared in warning at the nurse.

He exited the room whistling the tune to _'Jingle Bells'_ and practically skipped down the hall. When he arrived in the waiting room, he found AJ, Bud and Harriet sitting quietly waiting a turn.

Harriet spied him first and jumped to her feet, "Is she awake?!"

His smile split his face, "Yep, woke up about 20 minutes ago. She's alert, oriented and talkative."

"Can we see her?" Harriet nearly bounced.

"In about 10 minutes…the nurse is checking her over." Harriet handed him an envelope. "What's this?" he opened the flap and withdrew a Christmas photo card. He grinned when he saw the picture of three laughing kids. Mattie held the baby, while AJ poked his head around the side.

Harriet beamed, "I thought you might like a photo of the kids…all three of them!"

"Thanks Harriet," he leaned in to kiss her cheek, "…Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Sirrr…ah, I mean Harm."

"I've got a little surprise for the three of you, as well," his smile could light the world, "…Mac and I are engaged!" The trio gasped before congregating around him exchanging congratulations, handshakes and hugs.

"Do you think we can go back now?" Harriet giggled like a schoolgirl. "I have a picture for Mac, too!"

"Sure," he glanced at his watch, "…I told the nurse we'd back in 10 minutes…it's been at least 15."

Harriet gathered her things and gestured toward the hall, "Is she still in the ICU?"

"Ah, no…they moved her to Step-down this morning…Room 4," he turned back to talk with the Admiral, as Bud and Harriet started across the room.

"So, you and Mac finally figured things out?" AJ crossed his arms over his chest and arched his brow in challenge.

"Yes Sir, I think it's safe to say you'll be looking for a transfer for one of us…that is, after Mac has rehabbed."

"I think I can find an…opening in…judiciary…" AJ's voice trailed off as he stared over Harm's right shoulder. "Harm, did you say Mac was in Room 4?"

"Yeah…why?" he turned back toward the main corridor and watched as a flurry of activity sprinted down the hall. His eyes widened in concern as one of the nurses pushed a cart into Mac's door.

"What the…" he sputtered out in alarm.

The overhead speaker blared to life drowning out the holiday music.

"CODE BLUE…STEP-DOWN…ROOM 4! CODE BLUE…ALL AVAILABLE PERSONNEL…STEPDOWN-4!"

_The End…………………._


	4. Lo How a Rose E'er Blooming

**Lo How a Rose E'er Blooming** by doc

_**Fortune Cookie Prompt #2:**__ True happiness must come from within._

_**A/N:**__ This is the sequel to my 2007 Christmas Ficathon piece entitled 'In the Bleak Midwinter.' The original work was always meant to be a multi-story piece._

_**WARNING: Please read the entire story before making rash judgments or critiques.**_

_**Summary: **__The first story took place in Season 9 during the episode 'A Merry Little Christmas'. For those who haven't read the previous story, it begins with the scene in Mac's apartment when Harm asks for assistance with gaining guardianship of Mattie. Harm tells Mac, "Forget about it! It's too important for you to screw up," then proceeds to storm out the apartment door. In my ensuing story, Mac chases after Harm and is involved in a serious car accident. The story leaves off with Mac waking up in the ICU to find she and Harm are engaged. As Harm shares their happy news with their friends, he sees a flurry of activity outside Mac's room, as the overhead speakers announce a Code Blue._

_And the tale continues…_

_**xxxxx**_

_Disclaimer: I don't own JAG or any of the characters. I just take them out and play with them on occasion before replacing them safe and sound back on the shelf. The title comes from the Christmas carol by the same name. 'Lo How a Rose E'er Blooming' is a 15th__Century German Carol translated into English by Theodore Baker._

_Special thanks to Mom, my faithful finder and keeper of all things related to spelling and grammar_

_**xxxxx**_

**Lo How a Rose E'er Blooming**

18:00

Christmas Eve 2004

The Rabb Household

I sit staring at the beautifully decorated tree. Eyes roving and blurring in the tiny white twinkle lights, catching on an ornament here and there. I was never one for celebrating Christmas before this year. The holiday never held anything but heartrending memories for me. Childhood dreams burst and dissipated into thin air leaving storm clouds of doubt and misery. My gaze drifts back to the center evergreen bough, drawn unfailingly to the sunburst of color in rainbow hues dangling meekly amidst the tinsel and lights. I'm ensnared by its beauty and simplicity. Formed of glass, pure and clear, it calls my name. Offering strength, support, a harbor from the storm, protection, a promise of all things good, a listening ear. So many sentiments wrapped up and ascribed to one so small. Four inches of crystal, pure in clarity it reflects a prism of emotions in all colors of light. Radiating love and peace, golden winged, it beseeches me to lay down my burdens and cares…to set aside responsibilities and tasks, and silently reflect, if only for a moment on all that I have gained and lost. A tumultuous year finally comes to a close culminating in this season of celebration…of giving and receiving. I reach up to lightly touch the crystal vision in my midst and watch as it twirls and dances in the dim light of dusk, and candles, and Christmas dreams. This is my secret guardian and refuge of peace. The stalwart protector of all I love. Celestial and true. Steadfast. My angel…

My attention is drawn back to the frame clutched in my hand. Boxes and tissue paper lie tossed aside amongst the litter of broken ornaments and burnt out bulbs. One of my many assigned chores on this late holiday eve, the hauling of storage boxes and miscellaneous Christmas paraphernalia down to the basement, is now abandoned in lieu of cherished memories. I study the photographic image from long ago and far away, pondering how this treasure from a Christmas past found its way into the storage boxes of our holiday décor.

Transfixed on the image behind the glass, my mind drifts back to a moment some 30 minutes afore. Haphazardly collecting the bubble wrap and tissue, I hurried through my task determined to move on to more pleasant endeavors. As fistfuls of paper were stuffed into the red and green bin, my hand collided painfully with an object hewn and rough. Yelping in surprise, I withdrew my finger and immediately sucked away the blood beading to the surface. Carefully examining the wound, I discovered a splinter buried deep within and angrily sifted through the box trying to unearth the guilty culprit of my distress. It was then I discovered the old photo hidden amongst the paper confetti and plastic bubbles.

The beautiful face of one I love so dear peered back at me, the mock seriousness of her expression contradicting the laughter in her eyes. Rocking back on my heels, I struggled to recall the events leading up to the snapping of the picture. Memories fluttered through my mind one by one taking wing and luring me deeper into the past. Warmed by the love so evident in her eyes, I am stunned to have missed it, all those years before…undeniable, steadfast, powerful and so totally overwhelming as to ignore all instinct and reason.

I sigh in exhaustion, overcome by the weight of the intense emotional burden. It's hard to believe a year has past since that fateful night. So much has changed, and yet all remains the same. They said it was a clot. A pulmonary embolism, they called it. The accident, resultant trauma and immobility combined to trigger a disastrous cascade of morbidities. Her labored breathing was the first subtle indication of trouble, as the clot dislodged from her injured leg, traversed the deep vessels of her abdomen and scattered like buckshot to her lungs. Still to this day, I agonize over my culpability in the chain of events…had I called the nurse sooner, insisted she remain calm, forced her to rest... Futilely, I attempt to banish my self-doubts and recriminations about that night. Even the repetitive reassurances by medical staff, family and friends have done little to assuage my guilt.

Nonetheless…life goes on, and valuable lessons are wagered and learned. Casually uttered sentiments often seem trite and worn, but they do ring true. _Cherish the time while you have it, you never know what tomorrow may bring. Tell the special people in your life that you love them, everyday. Happiness is not predicated on worldly possessions, achievements or success, but comes from within. While others may enhance our joy, they cannot create what does not exist…_

The jingling of keys draws me from my ruminations, and I shake away the cobweb of memories from long ago and distant lands. Breathless, I remain still and silent, listening for her movements. The familiarity of her routine provides a peaceful balm for my troubled soul. Closing my eyes in concentration, I can detect the subtle sweetness of her perfume just a moment before I hear her rumbling laughter from the doorway across the room. And my heartbeat calms, bewitched by the cadence of her voice.

"I swear some folks can turn a simple 30 minute chore into an afternoon ordeal." She chuckles louder as the cherry blush rises in my cheeks, and ambles into the room, arms laden down with brightly wrapped presents.

"Ummm, what'cha got there?" I fake right, jab left trying to distract the ribbing, which I know is headed my way.

"For me to know and you to find out!" she giggles with lighthearted charm. I vow to God to endure any amount of merciless teasing directed my way, if she'll promise to smile at me like that for the rest of my life. I make a stealthily move forward trying to pull her into my arms, but she agilely sidesteps my snare with the well-practiced grace of a tightrope walker.

"Now, now," she playfully scolds, "…gifts are for tomorrow." She artistically arranges the new packages among the old then fixes me with a glare, "No peeking, Mister! Santa's elves are ev-er-ry-where," she draws out the syllables with a gentle curlicue flourish of her hand in the air.

"I stopped believing in Santa long ago," I wave off the threat of Jolly St. Nick flashing a smug, conceited grin.

"Alright then," she towers menacingly over me with hands firmly on hips, "…if elves don't work, then you'll have to deal with me! You should know by now…I see all things…know all things…and control all things." Her expression deadly serious, eyebrow raised, she dares me to challenge.

"Yes dear," I humbly pretend defeat, all the while throwing out my most disarming smile.

Her face brightens like sunshine reflecting off a rainbow after a late summer storm, and all my earlier ruminations and misgivings skitter away, banished to the dark recesses of my soul by the light of her smile. This woman can evoke such emotion in me with just a simple look, gesture or word. I can't begin to imagine the despair of my world if she were ever permanently banished from it.

Leaning over she places a quick peck on my lips, "Something smells good. What time's dinner?"

"Turkey went in about four…should be ready at eight," I peek into one of the gift bags labeled for me. She immediately clears her voice and whisks the gift away. "Sorry…" I shrug. The impish twinkle in my eye belies the sincerity of my remorse.

She begins to gather the errant tinsel and packing supplies, "We better get this cleared out…your folks will be here soon."

I covertly tuck the picture frame off to the side. She catches my movement all the same.

"What'cha got there?" she cranes her neck in an attempt to see.

"It's for me to know, and you to find out!" I not so subtly try a hand at her diversionary tactic, as I reach for one of the storage bins. She quirks a brow in that _'Think Again Buster'_ superior way of hers, and I relent having been bested by the master in her own game.

"It's just a picture frame that I found in one of the boxes," I quickly flick it back and forth before laying it face down. She kneels beside me, taking the frame and turning it upright. Her expression immediately subdues and becomes almost melancholy.

"I don't know how it got in there amongst our Christmas things," the words hurriedly roll off my tongue almost without forethought.

"Mmmm," she sighs and studies the photo.

"From Afghanistan," I stammer, "…I uh…it's…I mean…" I don't know how to interpret her mood.

"It's a lovely picture," she hands it back to me and stands. "Better hurry, your folks will be here within the hour."

I reach for her hand and give it a tug, "I love you."

"I love you, too," she leans down for another brief kiss, "…now get a move on…chop-chop! Dinner preparations await!"

I retrieve the rest of the paper and storage materials, and quickly stuff them into the bins. Stacking the boxes to a precarious height, I lean down to heft them into my arms. The framed photo catches my gaze once more, and I reverently lift it from the floor running an adoring finger over the shiny surface. Smiling at that beautiful face, I nod my head with determination and trod over to one of the bookcases flanking the fireplace. Extending the back easel on the frame, I carefully set it amongst our books, pictures and trinkets, prominently displayed for all to see.

_**xxxxx**_

Christmas morning…

I awaken to the soft caress of fingers running through my hair. Blinking in the early light, I grumble about morning, shades cracked open, and sun in my eyes. I hear a soft indulgent chuckle as a mug of holiday coffee is wafted under my nose. Inhaling deeply, I grin at the sweet spicy scent of cinnamon and hazelnut.

"Toooo early," I mumble and turn away on my side. Eyes drifting shut, I struggle to gain entrance to the wonderful hallucinations of my dreamland once more. _Marshmallow world_…no, that's not it. _Sugarplum fairies_…almost, not quite. _F-14 launching off a carrier_…ah yes, that's the one. Funny, I don't remember my RIO ever stroking a hand up and down my bare back before, or lips on…

"Come on, sleepyhead…time to get up," the words swirl softly from her tongue on feathery wisps of air, raising goosebumps in their wake and tickling my ear.

"No wanna…up late lass nigh," I slur like a petulant child, "…Christmas…s'pose a sleep in."

"Your folks are gonna be here within the hour," she pushes the blankets off my body, over my feet and onto the floor.

"Hey…no fair," shivering in the cold morning air, I roll into a ball trying to preserve body heat.

Losing patience, she pokes a finger into my back, "Up and at 'em! We have guests coming, and a brunch to get ready and served. Not to mention, you still need to get cleaned up! I don't think your mother will appreciate your current attire quite as much as me."

Turning my head toward the door, I sniff at the air, "Already smells good in here…got it under control." I roll back to my side, trying to suppress the grin at what I know is coming next.

She sighs heavily and reaches for my coffee mug. Reclining against the headboard, she abandons her usual tactics of persuasion and reaches into her holiday arsenal. "Alright, I guess someone doesn't want their Christmas present!" is haughtily huffed through pursed lips.

"Thought we were opening gifts with my folks," I roll back in her direction and rest my head on her thigh. Her fingers resume their earlier ministrations through my hair.

Her voice takes on a gentle concerned quality, "How was the visit to the Wall last night with your mom?" Her fingers continue light and soothing.

"Nice," a sigh rumbles forth from somewhere deep inside, "…she hadn't been there in years. I think she thought it would bother Frank," I shrug against her knee, "…ya know, if she took time to remember and reminisce?"

"But it's good to remember the special people from our past," her arm curls around my shoulder in a protective caress.

"Yeah, it is," I place a kiss on her knee before sitting up. Reclining beside her against the headboard, I take the mug she offers. Taking a long leisurely drink, I murmur, "Mmmm, this is good."

"Special Christmas blend…thought it would go well with breakfast."

I inhale the savory scent coming from the other room, "What are we having anyways?"

She takes back the mug and gracefully sips, "I made a breakfast casserole…french bread, broccoli, shallots, mushrooms, a little dried mustard…cheese." Another sip, "…ham," she mumbles out of the side of her mouth.

"Uhhh," I sputter, "…I thought we agreed…"

"A little won't hurt you," she pats my knee, "…you can always pick around it. Besides, you have to learn…if ah…."

"Learn what?" I quirk my brow.

She rolls her eyes and smiles, handing off the communal mug of coffee. It's one of those '_I've gotta secret'_ smiles. She leans over the side of the bed, and comes back up with a gift bag brightly decorated with polka dots in purple, pink, royal blue and fluorescent green. It sports a huge red bow affixed to the top with green and blue streamers curling down the sides. Yellow tissue paper billows up from inside the sack. The attached nametag in the shape of a whimsical snowman bears no name.

She offers me the gift, as her smile becomes a bit tentative and unsure. I rotate the package from side to side examining the monstrous piece of art.

"Open it," she whispers breathless, chewing on her lower lip.

"But, how do you know it's for me…there's no name?" I flick the Frosty nametag. "Santa could've brought it for you."

"It's for both of us," her words are so soft I barely hear them.

I lift the tissue paper away and toss it aside. Reaching inside, I retrieve a similar brightly wrapped gift box adorned with a bow. Playfully glaring at her, I declare, "You think this might be a little overkill?"

"_Patience is a virtue_," she shrugs with a mischievous grin, "…_Good things come in small packages_…_The harder the task, the_…"

"Stop!" I exclaim and rip into the gift with gusto. Tossing the wrapping paper and bow into her lap, I tear the lid off the box, only to find tissue paper secured with a huge gold seal.

"Is there anything even in here," I sigh, "…or is this just a practice in futility to get me outta bed?" I immediately flash a smile to tell her I'm teasing.

"Almost there," she begins chewing her lip in a harried fashion, all the while staring at the box.

I tear off the seal and separate the tissue paper to find the gift inside. I stroke my finger over the tiny soft cotton t-shirt nestled within. Tears well in my eyes and I'm unable to find my voice. Lifting the garment from the box, I hold it out for closer examination then immediately begin to twitter in laughter. Written in flowing cursive across the front is the phrase, '_My Other Car Seat is in the 'vette'_ with an oversized ring of car keys dangling off the side.

My emotions ping pong back and forth between wonder and awe, and my voice cracks, "Reeel…really? Is it actually…"

She reaches into the pocket of her robe and withdraws a plastic object. Placing it into my hand, she nods her head. Her joyous tears match my own. Staring at the white stick, I blink back tears long enough to make out the glowing blue '+' sign displayed in the small recessed window. Shaking my head, I can hardly believe this overwhelming gift at a second chance. As if reading my thoughts, she withdraws a second object from her pocket and places the lab slip marked 'POSITIVE' in red block letters into my grasp.

"When?" I gasp in amazement.

"August," tears flow down her cheeks, "…August 10th."

I pull her into my lap, or maybe she finds her way there. Arms interlink and encircle, lips find lips, and 'thank you's' and 'I love you's' filling the air. When we pull back breathless, I gaze at her still flat tummy and push her pajama top aside. With the barest touch of my fingertips, I trace the faint scar running from her breastbone to her hip, then reverently rest my palm atop the soft patch of abdomen housing my child safe and warm. My thumb strokes back and forth in a gentle soothing pattern.

"I love you," I whisper, brushing my lips against her.

"I love you, too."

Arms resting on my shoulders, she nibbles a path over my cheek to my ear. "Ya know," her fingernails lightly rake through my hair. I shiver from the blowing sensation of her words in my ear. "If I remember correctly," she kisses my earlobe and her tongue flicks out to catch the skin of my neck beneath, "…you owe me," another kiss to my skin, "…about ninety-eight more," she sighs, driving me wild, "…I love you's…"

The 'today' never makes it past her lips, before I dip her backwards on the bed, and follow her down. "I'd rather show you," my mouth does a little reconnaissance of its own. "Actions speak louder," I smile as she shivers under my touch, "…than words."

The ringing phone interrupts our Christmas morning fun. I reach for the offending object, only to hear my mother's voice emanate from the handset.

She wiggles off the bed, and bounds from the room, a twinkle dancing in her eyes. I listen to my mother prattle on about "Good morning" and "Merry Christmas" and "Be there soon," as my very own version of a sugarplum fairy sprite waltzes from our room.

After promising to send along her love, I finally disengage myself from the phone conversation with a "See ya soon!" I grab my robe and amble from the bedroom feeling lighter than air. No aircraft has ever felt this good, or sent me to such heights of ecstasy circling 'round the heavens. Entering the living room, I find my wife standing before the tree with a picture frame clutched in her hands. Stepping closer, I take note of the photo and her sudden dour mood. The memories from last night settle over me, weighing me down like an elephant perched on my chest. Searching the recesses of my mind, I can't grasp the source of her distress over this memento from our past.

Carefully, as not to startle, I step behind her and place my hands over hers. Leaning in I whisper, "What is it, sweetheart? Why does that picture bother you so?" She shrugs a noncommittal response, her shoulder bumping against my hovering chin.

"If you don't want it displayed, I can put it away," my sandpapery cheek catches and pulls in her hair. "I'm sorry, it was misplaced for a while, but in all the flurry of activity and stress surrounding your…" I can't bring myself to speak the word or talk of the events of that night. A lump rises in my throat clogging there like day-old, stale bread.

"Any-wa," I clear my throat, swallowing twice, "…anyway, when I was packing up your apartment in March, I must've grabbed the picture by mistake…mixing it up with your Christmas things. I'm sorry if…"

"It's not that," her voice is wistful and soft. "I just wish…" she pauses to release a melancholy sigh.

"Wish what?" I encourage.

"I miss this," she strokes a finger over the glass, caressing first my face then hers.

"I don't understand?" my brow furls in question. "I'm here, you're here…we have each other."

"I knooow," she turns in my arms, "…but sometimes I miss us. The way we used to be," she scrambles on before I misinterpret, "…I miss all the investigations, the fighting and sparring…being thick as thieves…having each other's back."

"I thought you liked being a judge."

"I do, but," she fidgets in frustration, "…sometimes I miss the exhilaration of our adventures. It took me months to recover and rehab after the accident, and no matter how hard I try, my lungs will never be 100. I can never go back to that time…to enjoy gallivanting around the wild wilderness with you."

"Sweetheart, you've made a miraculous recovery in the last year. You're back at full duty with only minimal pulmonary restrictions. Even the doctors swore you'd never make it this far. You've astounded everyone. Well, everyone but me," I flash a sincere smile full of pride, "…I always knew you would do anything you set your mind to."

"I know, and I love being a judge," she stares at me with renewed intensity trying to telegraph her feelings, "…but sometimes the marine in me misses the TAD's and assignments…the sweat and dirt…running roughshod over brass with you at my side. Butch and Sundance."

"You wanna spend the night in a cold Afghan desert, bombs bursting overhead," my hands flap in frenzy, "…after being thrown from a jeep in an explosion of butterfly mines? Rather then sleep in our warm comfortable bed?" Trying to lighten the mood, I go for the most ridiculous scenario I can recall, all the while striking an incredulous pose.

"If it's with you," she throws out her best marine bravado, "…any day…any time!" She chuckles at my dubious wide-eyed stare. Playfully patting my chest in a patronizing matronly fashion, she doubles over in laughter. "You had that exact same look on your face back in the mine field, when I mentioned learning about the whole weight substitution thing from a movie."

"You seem to be enjoying my distress," I mumble, feigning insult. Well, maybe it's a little bit true.

She fights to control her staccato bursts of giggles, and I can't help but thrill to her joyous mood. Thankful to discover a more steady footing, I tread lightly back to the original source of our emotional tête-à-tête.

"So, would you like me to put it away?" I point at the offending object.

"Umm, no," she shakes her head and smiles, "…I think we should keep it out…as proof." When I frown in uncertainty, she chuckles, "Our son is never gonna believe the tall stories of our adventures and exploits." She holds the photo aloft, "We're gonna need some irrefutable proof!"

I take the picture frame from her grasp, and set it back among the books and trinkets on proud display. Turning around, I challenge back, "Don'cha mean our daughter…she'll never buy that yarn about her mother rescuing her dad from a herd of goats!"

She cocks her head sideways, considering my words, "I thought you'd want a son…you know, the whole legacy thing."

"First of all," I pull her into my arms, "…I'll love whatever we're blessed with, boy or girl. And yes...eventually, I'd like to have a son, too. But son 'OR' daughter, I don't want either of them pressured to live up to any legacy of mine, I've done enough of that for all of us."

"But this one here," I lay my palm against her belly and caress the spot, "…I'm certain is a daughter. And she'll be everything I ever hoped for or dreamed."

"How do you know?" is softly uttered. The earlier aura of awe has returned to her eyes.

"Because, she's my second chance at happiness with you. She's everything I begged, beseeched and prayed for, while you were critical in the ICU. I swore I'd give anything, be anything, if only…"

I pull her close, enfolding her tightly in my embrace. My cheek brushes against her hair, as I whisper with equal parts amazement and joy, "She's gonna be incredible just like you. A fighter…strong, dedicated…loving and giving…compassionate. And I promise to love and adore her for all the days of my life, just like her mother."

Her arms tighten around me, hands stroking up and down my back. Our lips search and find one another, exploring, sealing our promise of forever. As we part, she buries her face in my neck, and I leisurely sway us to and fro to the gentle strumming of violins playing carols from the radio in the front hall.

For the first time in a very long time, I savor all that Christmas brings. The sentiment and meanings, the decorations, the giving of gifts, but more importantly the offering of self. Rejoicing in the overwhelming spirit and bliss that is embodied in this holiday season, I remember the tragic events of Christmas last year, and vow never to repeat them.

Staring at the towering symbol before me, I study the beautifully decorated tree…searching for that special symbol of peace that sustained me throughout the chaos of the last twelve months. Lights twinkle in the early morning sun, the star shines bright, but my eyes are fixed on a solitary ornament, pure and clear. Celestial and true.

It was Sarah's idea to honor those loved ones from our past. The angel with golden wings holds center stage on our tree. Sparkling in vibrant colors of rainbow hues befitting his role as steadfast protector and stalwart guide. The faithful guardian of all I love and will forever hold dear.

"Thank you, Dad," I whisper a prayer on high, "…for looking after her, for keeping her safe, and for bringing her back home to me."

_The End…_

_**A/N: **__Of course not! There's yet a third part to this trilogy._

_And surely everyone knew I could never do Harm or Mac in…at least not without a huge '__**character death warning'**__ at the beginning of the story, but more than likely NEVER! And that 'never' I mean…well, probably, most assuredly, forever, NEVER! LOL! I hope everyone had a fabulous holiday, and the New Year is shaping up to be spectacular. Thanks for your kind reviews, and sorry to scare you. Stick around for the third part of the trilogy, I promise to be gentle with your nerves._


	5. When A Child Is Born

**When A Child Is Born** by doc

_**Fortune Cookie Prompt #3:**__ Watch out for the red car._

_**A/N:**__ This story is the third, and final piece, to my Christmas Ficathon trilogy. The first two stories were entitled 'In the Bleak Midwinter,' and 'Lo How a Rose E'er Blooming'. This fortune cookie prompt was a little more difficult, so I threw in the HBX December challenge lines and came up with this bit of fun and whimsy._

_**Summary:**__The first story took place in Season 9 during the episode 'A Merry Little Christmas', and found Harm and Mac at odds after he uttered the words, "Forget about it! It's too important for you to screw up." Mac, in an attempt to mend the riff, chased after Harm only to be involved in a serious car accident. The first story ends with Harm and Mac engaged, but unforeseen complications result in a medical catastrophe._

_The second story picks up a year later at Christmastime. Harm and Mac are now married and learn they are about to experience the best Christmas gift of all…a child._

_And the tale continues… _

_**xxxxx**_

_Disclaimer: I don't own JAG or any of the characters. I just take them out and play with them on occasion before replacing them safe and sound back on the shelf. The title for this story comes from a song by the same name. 'When A Child Is Born' (__Soleado)__ was __written by Fred Jay, and the melody composed by Ciro Dammico, alias Zacar__. While not originally written as a Christmas carol, over the years since its debut, it has become a favorite song for the holiday season._

_Special thanks to Mom, my faithful finder and keeper of all things related to spelling and grammar_

_**xxxxx**_

17:40

Early December 2005

The Rabb Household

Mac slipped the key into the lock and turned the handle of the front door. Slipping inside, she dropped her briefcase on the floor, and placed her purse on the front hall table along with her damp cover. Stomping the snow off her shoes, she toed them off on the rug beside the front door. She was just about to hang up her coat when conspiring voices from the living room caught her ear.

"Now Maggie, proper young ladies don't chew on their toes!"

She quietly crept past the stairs, dropping her coat on the ladder-back chair along the way, and stealthily tiptoed to the living room entrance. Peaking around the corner she spied her husband and four-month old daughter playing on the floor. Unable to suppress a giggle, she ducked back into the hall and hovered just outside the doorframe, covertly listening to the duet's private conversation about deportment and etiquette.

"We've discussed this before, MagPie…only Daddy's allowed to nibble on your toes."

Mac slapped a hand over her mouth trying to contain her rumbling laughter. The sound of noisy raspberries and Daddy kisses being blown on soft baby skin could be heard resonating all the way into the hall. The thunderous volume of the oral attack was only marginally eclipsed by the ear-piercing shrieks of her daughter's high-pitched squeals of delight. Unable to withstand the lure of temptation posed by the impromptu father-baby confab, she stepped past the doorframe and stole into a far corner of the room. Hovering just out of sight, she merrily observed the pair.

"Okay, enough with the fun, young lady," Harm sat his daughter up on his bent knees and stared into her eyes, daughter-to-dad. "You and I need to have a serious discussion about social norms, expectations and goals."

Maggie reached out a soggy hand and grabbed her daddy's nose. "Missth Maggie, you're justh not…" The baby laughed at her father's nasally tone of voice, and Mac chomped down on her lip to prevent joining in the fun. Harm gently pried his daughter's death grip from his beak, and swiped away the baby drool and formula slobber slowly trickling down his cheek.

Placing his daughter an arm's length away, he continued, "As I was saying, it's never to early to set goals and expectations. The first objective on the list has got to be…no sucking on toes, fingers or any other appendage, whether attached to your own cute little self, or someone else." The baby smiled and a line of drool beaded and dribbled from her bow-shaped bottom lip onto her daddy's nice clean jeans.

"That's another thing, Maggie-Doodle…successful woman don't drool!" He wiped away the mountainous bubble forming on her lips just before it could pop.

Shaking his head, he clucked his tongue in a 'tsk-tsking' fashion, "Now see…that's just what Daddy's talking about. How often do you see Mommy blowing slobber bubbles like that?!"

Maggie's only response was to blow a raspberry reply around her now shiny wet thumb. Harm grabbed the burp cloth off his left shoulder and gently dabbed at his daughter's face.

"Sweetie, if you wanna grow-up to be successful like your mommy, there's a few rules you need to understand." He studied his daughter with a discerning eye, "You do wanna grow up to be like your mama, don'cha Maggie?"

The baby smiled, all the while kicking her feet, arms and legs flying in a wild frenzy. "That's what I thought!" he nodded in mock approval.

"Ya know, your mom's a very special lady, and we're really lucky to have her in our lives. There was a time, a couple years back, when I thought I might loooose heeeer…" his voice cracked, and he swallowed hard to clear the overwhelming emotions evoked by the memory.

"Anyway, we'll talk about that sometime in the future, when you're a bit older," he stroked a finger through his daughter's dark hair, marveling at just how much she resembled Mac.

"Now, where was I? Oh yeah…your mom! The thing is, Maggie…your mommy, she's a good-looking woman. Stunningly beautiful, actually. I still can't believe she took a liking to a swabbie like me. You see, she's a marine…and marines and sailors don't always get along. In fact, the first time Mommy and me worked a case together…she pulled a gun on your daddy. Now, in all honesty, she was just trying to rescue your Great Uncle Matt…but still, she impressed the hell-lllo…um heck, I mean heck…outta me. I'd never met a woman who was so tough and strong. Did I mention she pulled Daddy into a helicopter? Of course, she wouldn't have had to, if Daddy hadn't been dangling off the side."

He looked down to find his daughter listening to him with rapt attention, eyes bulging wide. "By the way," he shook a finger in her direction, "…you're not allowed to do that…dangle off helicopters that is! No Special Forces for you!" Maggie gurgled and cooed her objection.

"Noooo, I don't care what you say…Daddy's being quite serious here. I know girls can do anything boys can do…but NO SPECIAL FORCES!" Maggie laughed at her daddy's stern voice.

He rolled his eyes and muttered, "I can see you're gonna be a load of fun as a teenager."

"Now where was I again?" He scratched his cheek, "Oh yeah, your mom's glowing attributes. Let's see," he gazed at the ceiling, "…she's smart…really smart. Don't tell Mommy, but sometimes, she runs circles 'round Daddy in court. In fact, sometimes Daddy has to resort to crazy schemes and shenanigans to gain the upper hand…like shooting off a gun in the court room or… Ah, scratch that, maybe it's not such a good idea to provide you with inspiration for wayward stunts. Let's just keep that little 'slip of the tongue' a secret between you and Daddy…okay squirt?" He held Maggie's hand aloft and gave her a 'high five'.

"Okay, back to your mom…um, let's see, she's loving and giving. She has a heart a mile wide. She never gives up. She never abandons or leaves anyone behind," he tapped a finger against his lip in thought.

Eyes lighting up in mischief, he crooned, "Of course, she does have a tattoo! It's located right on her… Ah, never mind…that's another one of those things you don't need to know. In fact," he flashed her a menacing fatherly glare, "…you're not allowed to get a tattoo either! I don't care what the other kids say and do…NO TATTOO!"

When Maggie giggled, he reprimanded in a soft but firm voice, "No, no, young lady! Daddy's very serious about this. I want you to write it down on your 'off limits' list. 'No Tattoo' belongs right next to, 'No Special Forces'! Oh, and one other thing," he shook his finger, "…never trust a guy who drives a red car! Yes, I know Daddy has a red car, but Daddy's the only exception to the rule. NO RED CARS!"

At that moment, Harm heard riotous laughter ring out from behind him. Quirking his head to the left, he peered over his shoulder into the shining eyes of his wife. She was doubled over, gasping for breath, with tears rolling down her cheeks.

"How long have you been there?" he muttered, cheeks burning bright.

"Let's…seeee," the words slurred out betweens bursts of levity, "…I remember something…about…chewing on…toes." She tried to calm and control her giggles. "I only wish…I'd had the video recorder…your mom…would've loved…"

"Hey now…there's no need to go to extremes! Let's just keep this between the three of us! No need to drag in other combatants!" he slouched down further, pouting behind the couch.

She pranced toward him, a smile still dancing in her eyes. "There's no need to be embarrassed. I thought it was really very sweet." She sat down beside her beloved pair, and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

"I don't s'pose we can forget this ever happened?" he ducked his head away chagrinned.

"Don't see that happening," she caressed his bright warm cheek, "…but I'm sure you'll find something equally discomforting to hold over my head." He rolled his eyes in disagreement. "Besides, I love you in full 'Daddy Mode', and most of what you said was very complimentary to me."

"Noticed that did you?" he bumped his shoulder to hers.

"Yep," she quirked a brow, "…all except that tattoo comment." She leaned up for a proper _'Hello, I've Missed You All Day--So Glad To Be Home' _kiss. Maggie's squeal for attention broke the spell before the kiss could get out of hand.

Mac reached for her daughter and lifted her overhead, "There's Mommy's baby girl. Did you have fun with Daddy today?" The baby extended her arms, waving her hands like little birds in flight. Mac pulled her closer, slathering her with kisses from ear to ear.

The grandfather clock struck the six o'clock hour, and Mac looked up in a horrified panic. "Shoot! With all the fun, I forgot…the photographer's gonna be here any minute!"

She gawked at her nearly naked daughter, bedecked only in a disposable diaper, and her bare-chested spouse. "Harm, you two were supposed to be dressed and ready! Now, all three of us need to get changed!"

"Calm down, Marine…it's okay. The photographer called to say he's running late. I don't expect him before 7…7:30." Mac visibly deflated with relief.

"As for our cloothesss," he drew out the syllable, "…we had a little mishap. Didn't we, MagPie?"

Mac warily eyed the pair, "What kinda mishap?"

"Ahhhh, the kind where Maggie erupted like Mt. Vesuvius all over our fancy duds."

"Harrrmmm…"

"Don't look at me," he shook his head and pointed, "…she did it!"

Maggie giggled at her parents funny expressions and yo-yoing words. "Hey, don'cha blame me, baby sweet thing!" he wiggled a finger at the miniature version of his wife.

Rubbing a hand over her weary face, Mac sighed, "How did this happen?"

"I told you she hated formula!"

"There were three bottles of breastmilk in the fridge when I left this morning," she screwed her face up in disgust when Maggie nailed her uniform blouse with curdled milk.

He tipped is head in that _'Told You So'_ superior way of his, which quickly morphed into contrition. "One of the bottles kinda…exploded in the…ah, microwave," he shrugged his shoulders begging forgiveness.

"Do I even wanna see the microwave?" she eyed him.

He looked away mumbling, "I, ah…might recommend…ah, avoiding the…um, kitchen…all together."

"Harrrmmm…"

"Sorry," he grimaced, "…I'll, ah…clean it up later."

Mac peered at her daughter with a perplexed expression, "Maggie, what's Mama gonna do with you?" The baby cooed and giggled, reaching up to pat Mac's face. "Alright, I guess we'll have to keep ya. Besides, I think Daddy would pick you over Mama any day."

"Fat chance," Harm snorted, "…I'm not letting either of you outta my sight!"

"So?!"

Harm cast Mac a dubious gaze, "Sooooo…."

"What are we gonna do about Maggie's dress? Harm, your mom's gonna kill me!" She glared when he laughed outright. "I'm serious! She had that dress ordered special from one of those exclusive baby boutiques in San Francisco. She specifically asked for a portrait of Maggie in 'that' Christmas dress! She's gonna kill me," she shook her head in frustration, "…I'm a failure as a daughter-in-law."

No longer able to hold it in, Harm erupted in laughter, "Don't be dramatic, MacKenzie." When she scowled, he rushed on undeterred, "First of all, you reached near perfection in Mom's book, when you managed to finally haul me in after all these years. I think she was beginning to wonder if I was gay, and all my previous girlfriends were merely props in the allusion. The fact that you provided her with the coveted grandbaby after she gave up all hope and expectation in my fatherly abilities, moves you past perfection," his hand flew skyward, "…to downright saint status. Personally, I think she likes you better than me!"

"But Harm, the dress…"

"Don't worry about the dress!" He reached for his daughter, wiggling her overhead, and spoke in a singsongy voice, "You hated that dress…didn't ya, Maggie. Tell Mommy…it was all flouncey and big. You looked like a giant red velvet pompom. Plus, the lace scratched your neck and arms, creating angry red welts."

"Fine! You tell your mom why there's no Christmas portrait!"

"I will," he bumped his arm into hers, "…if anyone has to take the fall, leave it to me. Besides…"

He reached under the couch and withdrew an 8x10 sheet of photo paper. Handing it to her, he smiled proud as peacock, "I played around with a little digital photography of my own today."

She studied the picture in silence, hand cupped over her mouth and tears in her eyes. "How did you…"

"Maggie and I had a little fun this afternoon…didn't we, doodle bug." Maggie giggled her reply and reached for the photo. "No, no baby, that one's for Mommy's desk. We have another one for Daddy's, and a larger version for Gummy and Papa."

"It's beautiful…your mom's gonna love it," the words bubbled out between gasps and tears.

"Hey, I didn't think it would make you cry!"

"Hormones," she waved a dismissive hand.

"But you're not pregnant anymore," he teased, snaking an arm around her shoulders.

"Doesn't matter…woman's prerogative," she wiped a finger under her eyes to dry the moisture. Studying the picture of her daughter, she shook her head in amazement, "Where'd you find the box?"

"Made it," he preened, "…I thought we should share our very best gift this year!"

Mac chuckled softly, all the while, examining the portrait. He'd positioned a huge wrapped gift box in front of the Christmas tree, with the lid tipped off to the side. Mountains of tissue paper sprang from the box, and perched in the middle of the holiday extravaganza was Maggie giggling in the aforementioned red velvet Christmas dress.

"Harm, this is so amazing…I can't believe…"

"So, do ya think this will satisfy Gummy?" he tapped the corner of the photo.

"Oh yeah," Mac nodded, "…I think she's gonna be one proud grandma." She graced him with his most favorite smile, "You really saved my neck with this one." She set the photo aside for safekeeping, and wrapped her arms around his chest. Head tipped up, her lips sought out his.

When they parted, he winked, "I aim to please, darlin."

She rested her head against his shoulder and chuckled back, "Every now and then I catch you being nice."

"Keep it to yourself, okay? I've got a reputation to protect." He squeezed her hand, "As for the photographer's family Christmas portrait, I was thinking something comfortable and relaxed. How about the soft red and white striped Christmas sleeper you bought last week? Maggie will look just like one of Santa's elves dressed up in it. And you and I can wear those red cashmere sweaters you picked out, along with some jeans. As long as Mom has a photo to share with her friends, I think she'll be satisfied…to a grandma, it's all about bragging rights, after all," he waggled his brow.

_**xxxxx**_

Later that evening…

Harm dried his hands on the dishtowel and hung it from the oven door. Taking stock of the now sparkling kitchen, he sighed with satisfaction and exhaustion. Grabbing a Christmas cutout cookie on the way out the door, he turned to head upstairs. Before reaching the stairs, he flicked off the front hall lights and clicked the lock. The twinkling lights on the Christmas tree caught his attention, and he wandered into the living room to unplug the tree.

The angel ornament sparkled and flickered in the dim light of the room. He stopped to take note of the simple symbol of peace and support. Reaching out, he tapped the crystal angel and watched as it twirled in the sparkle of Christmas lights.

"Hey Dad," he whispered, "…you've got a new grandbaby this year. I know you've probably noticed the hubbub and chaos around here, as well as, the laughter and fun. Maggie, that's her name…well, Margaret actually, but we call her Maggie." He shook his head, "She's really something, Dad. I never imagined it could be like this. Who knew you could fall in love so fast and so overwhelmingly complete in the span of a heartbeat? She amazes me everyday with some new feat or just the light of her smile. She actually has a special one, just for me. I don't know what I would do without her or Mac."

He glanced heavenward and blinked back the moisture in his eyes, "So Dad, if you don't mind…keep looking out for my two best girls. My world would surely come to an end without their smiles."

He tapped the ornament once more then leaned down to unplug the tree. Heading out of the room, he turned back one final time, "Night Dad…love you. Thanks for keeping a watchful eye."

He wearily climbed the stairs, and wandered down the hall past the master bedroom. Standing in the doorway to the nursery, he paused to study the heavenly sight inside. Mac was relaxed in the rocking chair feeding their daughter. Her fingers stroked through Maggie's soft dark curls, and a gentle contented smile graced her face. Maggie's eyes were closed and her body almost completely relaxed in sleep. Mac drew a finger in a gentle caress over the baby's cheek, and Maggie's mouth puckered before resuming its gentle suckling and thrusting motion. This was a real life picture for which he would never tire, he mused in thought.

Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed on his chest, one foot angled over the other, he whispered, "Told you, she liked you better."

Mac looked up startled, and Maggie began to wiggle in her grasp. She tightened her arm around the baby's small body, and the little one settled once more.

"Sorry," he whispered in hushed tones and crept into the room. He paused beside the chair, running a finger over Maggie's cheek to entice her to finish nursing, then leaned down to kiss her soft baby head. Inhaling deeply, he smiled at the sweet scent of baby powder and lotion, with just the hint of that something more inherent in one so small. The special essence unique to a baby girl, which evokes images of ballerinas, angels, fairy princesses, and all things wistful and soft.

Squeezing one of Mac's shoulders, he stole a quick kiss, and wandered over to the bedroom window. Staring into the dark night, he watched the tiny snowflakes swirl and fall in the illumination of the streetlamps. His breath fogged the window, and he drug a finger through the condensation in a crisscrossing snowflake pattern.

"It's snowing," his gaze remained transfixed on the early winter storm, "…starting to look like Christmas."

"Mmmm…started on the way home," she softly uttered, as she shifted Maggie onto her shoulder, gently patting her back. "There was already a half inch when I came in the door."

"Looks like a couple by now." A smile played on his lips, "The snowflakes are so small and lazily drifting down…it's look like the angels are sifting powdered sugar."

"Powdered sugar, huh?" She gently laid the baby in the crib and joined him at the window, burrowing into his side. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, but continued to watch the wintry scene, while lost in thought.

She bumped her hip to his, "I said…powdered sugar, huh?"

He smiled at her playful teasing tone, and turned to face her fully. Wrapping both arms around tight, he pulled her into a warm embrace, "Maggie and I were baking cookies this afternoon. You can blame my confectionary description on Grandma Sarah's Famous Christmas Cutout recipe."

She flashed him a wry grin and reached up to swipe a dab of frosting from his chin. Licking her thumb, she chuckled, "That would explain the pink icing between Maggie's toes."

He ducked his head to hide the blush, "Thought I got that washed off when I gave her a bath."

"Care to explain how it got there in the first place," she raised a brow, still smiling in amusement.

"Better to nibble on," he shrugged his shoulders.

"Which one…you or Maggie?"

"Both," he grinned unrepentantly, "…after all, Maggie needed a taste of her Great Grandma's Christmas cookies, even if it was only the frosting. And personally," he puffed up his chest in challenge, "…I happen to think her toes taste best when lathered in butter cream icing."

"What happened to the _'No Chewing on Toes'_ etiquette rule," she tugged on his catywampus ear.

"Ah, you obviously missed Corollary 'a-22', subcategory 'b' to Rule #1… _'Only Daddy is allowed to nibble on MagPie's frosted toes'_," he punctuated the declaration with a superior index finger waving in the air.

"Well then, I stake claim to her pudgy thighs," Mac crooned back. They both giggled with unbridled joy at the serious tone of their ludicrous 'Division of Assets'.

Once they had calmed down, Harm pulled her to his chest, rubbing his cheek against the perfumed softness of her hair. She snuggled her face into his neck, wiggling her nose at the scratchy roughness of his late evening beard. Swaying them to and fro in the dim moonlight cast through the nursery window, he peered into their daughter's crib and began to hum.

"Where'd ya hear that tune?" Mac sighed with sleepy contentment against his skin, causing him shiver and tighten his embrace.

"On the radio…while Maggie and I…were cooking," he yawned.

Reaching for her hand, he tucked it to his chest, and began to leisurely waltz them around the room. "This is nice," she kissed his neck in a nipping fashion, working her way to his ear.

"Mmmm-um," he agreed humming between his words "… the song reminded me…of how blessed our Christmas is this year…you, me and Maggie. I can't think of another gift I want or desire more…than the happiness and love of our family."

Continuing to slowly circle the nursery, he softly sang the words…

_A ray of hope flickers in the sky_

_A tiny star lights up way up high_

_All across the land dawns a brand new morn_

_This comes to pass, when a child is born_

_A silent wish sails the seven seas_

_The winds of change whisper in the trees_

_And the walls of doubt crumble tossed and torn_

_This comes to pass, when a child is born_

_A rosy hue settles all around_

_You got the feel you're on solid ground_

_For a spell or two no one seems forlorn_

_This comes to pass, when a child is born…_

_The End…for real this time!_


End file.
